At last, Scout & Dipstick go to The Mountain

Last night we started getting rain — not a lot, but at least it was something. It barely settled the dust here in Harrison. Over on The Mountain, however, Deb’s cousin reports that it came down in “buckets.” That’s a very good thing on high ground that’s bone-dry anyway.

It looks like the relentless triple-digit heat will ease for a while, with a couple of days in the 80s and a predicted high Saturday of just 78°F. Rain, in the form of scattered thunderstorms, is in the forecast every day through the weekend, and flash-flooding is to be expected.

Most folks ’round here, their eyes on the skies, scanning for gathering clouds, would say that a little high water would be a small price to pay for much-needed precipitation, but we all hope we don’t suffer the soggy fate of folks in central Missouri and Kentucky.

Deb and I endured a couple of flash floods in this very campground last winter, of course. We’d rather not have a moat around Ernie again.


Briefly I’d like to return to “The table,” posted a couple of days ago. I gave the impression that I favor charity — and I do — but some may wonder why, then, I don’t feel the same way about State programs that benefit the less fortunate among us.

That’s a reasonable question, given that we’re not supposed to actually think about such things.

I support private charity and personal generosity because they’re voluntary — it’s up to each of us what to do with our money and our time. Government entitlement programs, on the other hand, are conscriptive, paid for by taxation (theft), robbing citizens of both cash and choice.

You won’t find me advocating for a “social safety net.” I have no standing to steal from others to pay for what I believe is important, nor is it any of my fellow Americans’ business what I choose to do with the money I’ve earned.

Private charity, like the Sharing Wall at the Neighborhood Diner, is consistent with the American Ideal. Entitlement programs are anathema to Liberty — and they’re downright anti-American.


“Joe Manchin’s 700-page, trillion-dollar tax-and-spend bill is probably the longest suicide note in the history of West Virginia.”

U.S. Senator Tom Cotton of Arkansas

Today’s news is dominated by prattle about two straight quarters of shrinking U.S. gross domestic product, the textbook definition of “recession.” The current occupant of the Oval Office and his cabal, channeling the Black Knight of Monty Python fame, deny it.

So are we in a recession?

It doesn’t matter.

I’m not saying that we’re in a recession, and I’m not saying that we’re not. America definitely is in deep trouble. But the label simply doesn’t matter.

What does matter, then?

The current regime is intentionally unmaking America. It’s raising taxes in the face of runaway inflation, increasing federal spending, crippling the energy sector, ignoring border security and, inexplicably, continuing to fan WuFlu fears. (In case you haven’t noticed, face diapers are back.)

Different people are affected in different ways. Ditto regions and industries. What matters isn’t the shitstorm stirred up by government and media — what matters is how we respond to it.

Some Americans will suffer. But I promise you, throughout this sabotaged economy others will thrive. The difference?

Choices.

Keep living and spending and choosing like it’s 2019 and you won’t fare well. Those who adjust to a new set of limits and opportunities will prosper.

It’s that simple. Choose wisely.


I haven’t mentioned it here, but while we were out last weekend Scout apparently slipped on the tile floor in the bus and injured her left hind leg. She’s been limping badly since, though she’s remained her usual happy self and never so much as whimpered.

This afternoon we kept an appointment with a veterinarian whose clinic is 20 miles past The Mountain, 60 miles from our campground. He’d been recommended to us by Deb’s cousin, and we had a great experience with him — he’s the prototypical country vet, plain-spoken and friendly, our kind of guy.

He examined Scout’s leg for maybe 30 seconds before giving us the bad news — poor girl, she’d completely blown out the ligaments in her stifle (knee) joint. He outlined a couple of possible surgical repairs, then suggested a third option.

Do nothing.

Our girl Scout is almost 12 years old. At that age neither Deb nor I is inclined to put her through anesthesia, surgery and rehab. She’ll adapt to getting around on (essentially) three legs — she’s a dog, after all, and she’s already demonstrated remarkable stoicism. Over time the pain will subside and scar tissue will help stabilize the joint.

So that’s what we’ll do. It’s the best and most compassionate decision we can make.

On our way back to Harrison we jogged south and, for the first time, introduced Scout and Dipstick to The Mountain. It was a brief visit, but for us and the pups it marked an important milestone.

The rest of our return trip chased the setting sun, framed by dramatic clouds. As bad as we feel for Scout, she’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.

It was, in all, a very good day in this American Life.

Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.

#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath

#LetsGoBrandon